We pulled up in front of a building with a hand-painted sign that read “Harmony Haven Rescue Center,” and I felt my brain short-circuit.
“Is this?—”
“Yeah.”
“A rescue center?”
“Specifically a capybara rescue center. They take in exotic animals that people can't care for anymore. I called ahead. We've got an hour.”
I stared at him, then at the building, then back at him. “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered. You spent twenty minutes in high school explaining why capybaras are the superior rodent.”
“They are the superior rodent.”
“You showed me a picture book about them.”
“It was educational.”
“You were obsessed.”
“I was enthusiastic. That's not the same thing.”
He grinned at me, and I felt my throat get tight in a way that had nothing to do with the therapy session and everything to do with the fact that this man had listened to me ramble about capybaras when we were teenagers and had remembered it thirteen years later.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's go see some giant rodents.”
The inside of the rescue center smelled like hay and cedar shavings, and a woman in her forties with kind eyes and mud-stained jeans greeted us at the front desk. Her name was Diane, and she gave us the rundown on the rules—no sudden movements, no loud noises, wash our hands before and after, and absolutely no trying to ride the capybaras no matter how sturdy they looked.
“People actually try that?” I asked.
“You'd be surprised,” Diane said dryly. “We've had to put up signs.”
She led us through a hallway and out into an enclosed yard where half a dozen capybaras were lounging in various states of relaxation. Some were soaking in a shallow pool, others were munching on vegetables, and one particularly large specimen was sprawled out in a patch of sun looking like he'd achieved enlightenment.
“Oh my God,” I said. “They're perfect.”
“They're huge,” Rook said.
“They're majestic.”
“They look like oversized guinea pigs.”
“Don't insult them. They can hear you.”
Diane handed us some carrots and lettuce, and I crouched down near the pool where a couple of the smaller capybaras were hanging out. One of them—a female with a notch in her ear—waddled over and sniffed my hand before taking the carrot with the kind of delicate precision that made my heart melt.
“Hi, beautiful,” I said softly. “You're doing amazing, sweetie.”
Rook crouched next to me and offered a piece of lettuce to another capybara who accepted it with enthusiasm. “Okay, I'll admit it. They're pretty cute.”
“Pretty cute? They're magnificent.”
“They're cute.”
“Take it back.”
“No.”
